


A Matter of Time

by Elise_Madrid



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 06:23:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16867777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elise_Madrid/pseuds/Elise_Madrid
Summary: Already unsettled, a person from Illya's past threatens to totally undo his relationship with Napoleon.





	A Matter of Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Blondie54x](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blondie54x/gifts).



> My prompts were blackmail, key, attic. And something angsty.

“Yes sir, I can be ready by then. No sir, no problem. Yes, sir. Yes, sir, it’s quite an honor. Thank you, Mr. Waverly.” Napoleon shook his head as he closed his communicator.

“What was all that about?”

Napoleon turned to his partner. “Mr. Saito was shot this morning.”

“Mr. Saito, head of U.N.C.L.E. Japan?”

“One and the same.”

“So what’s that got to do with you?” Illya made a face. “Don’t tell me, Mr. Waverly wants you to fill in while Saito recuperates.”

“That pretty much sums it up. It shouldn’t take too long. The bullet went through and through and didn’t hit anything vital. I shouldn’t be gone more than a week or two.”

“So much for our vacation. What time do you have to leave?”

Napoleon looked at his watch. “Not for another six hours. My flight leaves at 8 pm.”

“Ah,” Illya said as he came up on one elbow, pushing his partner onto his back. “Then we have plenty of time.”

Napoleon grinned and pulled Illya up on top of him.

Illya settled himself, using his legs to force Napoleon’s apart. Getting up on his knees, Illya pushed Napoleon’s thighs up and hooked them over his shoulders. He took Napoleon’s cock into his hand and started slowly fisting it in time to his own cock sliding against Napoleon’s perineum.

Napoleon put his arms up and grabbed hold of the headboard with both hands. He pushed back with his lower body, his hips rising to meet each thrust.

Illya’s bent forward, forcing Napoleon’s leg further apart. He grabbed Napoleon’s head and pulled it toward him. He was just barely able to press his mouth against his partner’s gasping one. He shoved his tongue in, reveling in the other man’s taste. But they couldn’t hold that position for long, however much Illya might wish to. He reluctantly pulled away, though it did award him the sight of Napoleon’s face, flush with desire, his eyes half-closed as he moaned out his pleasure. It almost undid Illya.

He redoubled his fisting of Napoleon’s cock, and eagerly watched for signs of his impending orgasm.

There it was. Napoleon’s eyes squeezed shut as he pushed his head back into the pillow. He came with a wail, his sperm shooting out to cover his belly. Illya slowed his fisting, though he didn’t let loose of the softening organ or stop his own thrusts. He brought his other hand forward and collected some of the cooling liquid. Then, slowly, he brought it back around and gently touched the tip of his middle finger against Napoleon’s anus.

Napoleon’s eyes flew open. He didn’t flinch, exactly, but Illya could tell that he wasn’t glad about the direction their lovemaking was taking. I deep sense of aggrievement flickered across Illya’s mind. He slowly pushed his finger in as far as he could, always watching for any signs of pain until the rest of his hand was flat against Napoleon’s ass. Without taking his eyes from Napoleon’s face, Illya began finger fucking him, wondering how far he could take this. However far, that’s as far as he was going to go. When Napoleon didn’t stop him, he added another finger. He used them to stretch the opening for what he hoped was to come.

Napoleon squirmed and turned his face away, but he still didn’t stop Illya.

Illya could feel the tension in Napoleon’s whole body as he added yet another finger, pushing deep inside Napoleon’s rectum. Was this uncomfortable for his partner? Illya couldn’t tell. Not wanting to take any more chances, he removed his hand, and using his thumbs, pulled the opening wide. It was difficult to hold back, but he didn’t want to hurt his partner. Using every ounce of will-power that he possessed, Illya ever so slowly pushed his cock into the tight orifice.

Napoleon gasped and his body went rigid. Illya hoped that if Napoleon wasn’t enjoying this yet, that he soon would. But Illya had wanted this for months, waited for it. Napoleon was finally allowing it; there was no way that Illya could hold himself back. He grabbed Napoleon’s shoulders and pushed deeper into the puckered opening. All the way in, almost all the way out. Then in again, as he began a slow and steady onslaught of his partner’s body.

He watched his partner’s face as he fucked him. Napoleon had dropped his arms and handfuls of the sheet were now clenched in his fists. The only sounds he made were gasps at Illya’s every thrust. His eyes were tightly shut.

Illya wondered what it was that Napoleon was feeling, but his own body was crying for release. He shoved his cock in as deep as he could, and shuddered as his orgasm washed over him. Too soon, it was over. He wanted to stay where he was forever, but after a moment he rolled off and lay back on the bed.

Neither spoke for several minutes. Finally, Illya said, “You surprised me.”

“I surprised myself.” Napoleon winced as he rolled onto his side to face Illya.

“Does it hurt?”

“A little. I’ll get over it.”

“So why? Why this time, after all this time?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t want to. I almost pushed you away. I guess I felt that, well, that I ought to. You let me do it to you.”

“‘Do it’ to me? That’s an odd way to describe what we just did. It sounds as if you didn’t enjoy it.”

Napoleon looked away. “I didn’t. It was uncomfortable.”

Illya angrily threw the sheet aside and bolted from the bed. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Illya, wait, please.” Illya stopped his flight to the bathroom and turned around. Napoleon was looking at him again, but he seemed confused. “Do you want me to lie to you? Say I enjoyed it when I didn’t? Isn’t it enough that I let you do…that I let you fuck me?”

Illya blew out a breath. “No, Napoleon, it’s not enough. I don’t know…I don’t know if I can continue with this. I know that we all enjoy different things; I’ve tried to keep that in mind. But you knew that I’ve wanted this, yet even when you finally allow it, you barely participate. It’s hard to imagine that there isn’t more going on here.”

Napoleon sat up, bringing another look of pain to his face. “You know I enjoy having sex with you, just not this. Is this one thing so important that you’d be willing to throw away what’s between us?”

“I don’t know, because I don’t know what is between us. Are we lovers, or just a convenient body? Just friends, or something more?

“Look, we’ll talk about it when you get back. Maybe the time apart will give us both some time to reflect.” Without waiting for a response, Illya grabbed his clothes and headed for the bathroom.

He took a long shower. It felt good, though he realized he was doing it because he wasn’t looking forward to hearing anything else Napoleon might still have to say. He got out and dressed, taking his time at this, too. Unable to delay any longer, he grabbed the handle, stiffened his spine and opened the door.

Napoleon was still sitting on the bed. He looked up at Illya. Perhaps he saw something there because he didn’t try to speak. He slowly rose and then gingerly walked passed Illya and into the bathroom. He quietly closed the door.

Illya saw no reason to wait around. He walked out into the living room, grabbed his coat and let himself out of Napoleon’s apartment.

 

~~~~~

 

Illya didn’t know how long the kettle had been screaming at him. Sitting on the couch in his apartment, his thoughts were miles away. Exactly six point three miles. He got up and went into the kitchen. He poured hot water over the teabag, and let it sit for a minute before adding a bit of milk. He returned to the living room and the unpleasant business of trying to figure out what to do with Napoleon.

Taking the seat that he had recently vacated, he stared out the window and slowly stirred his tea.

The sun was setting, which meant that Napoleon was probably already on his way. No chance of catching him to apologize, though, truthfully, Illya didn’t think he had anything to apologize for. Maybe for leaving the way he did…no, Napoleon deserved that. They’d ridden this particular merry-go-round for almost six months. If Napoleon hadn’t come to terms with his homosexuality by now, Illya wondered if he ever would.

Illya had watched Napoleon flit from woman to woman for years, but eventually he had seen behind the carefully built facade. Napoleon might like women, but he obviously didn’t love them. Not enough to stay with one, not even for a week, much less for life. Illya knew that Napoleon had been married before, but Napoleon had never opened up about it. Who knew what the circumstances had been; Illya wasn’t about to ask.

Truthfully, he really didn’t want to know. He hadn’t wanted any secrets from Napoleon’s past to get in the way of what Illya wanted from him, what Illya had finally done something about.

One night after a tough assignment, safely within the confines of Napoleon’s apartment, they had gotten drunk. Not falling down, I-don’t-remember-what-happened drunk, but drunk enough to let down their inhibitions. It had been a gorgeous night; cool and clear, the air crisp. They had been sitting out on the balcony. Napoleon didn’t have any furniture out there, so they had spread out a blanket and made themselves comfortable on the floor.

Illya didn’t remember what had happened that gave him the nerve to reach over and, grabbing Napoleon by the lapels, soundly kiss him. What he did remember is that Napoleon had hesitated only a moment before beginning to kiss him back. It didn’t take long before they were naked and hungrily grabbing for any body part within reach. And that had been that. They never talked about what had happened, just let it happen time and time again. They’d sort of slipped into being lovers. It had taken Illya by surprise when Napoleon had balked at intercourse.

The phone rang, startling him. Napoleon had insisted that he get a phone when they had first been assigned as partners, but no one ever called him. Not even Napoleon. If he wanted to get in touch with Illya, he used his communicator.

Illya got up and warily approached the device. Should he answer it? He almost didn’t. He almost walked away, figuring whoever it was would eventually give up. But his curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Illya?”

_Napoleon_

“Yes, why are you calling me on the phone?”

“I didn’t think this was a conversation I’d want to have over my communicator.”

Illya supposed not. “Where are you?”

“I’m at the airport. My flight’s been slightly delayed. Listen,” Napoleon hesitated. “I know I haven’t been everything you want me to be, but I’m trying.”

“Are you, Napoleon? It doesn’t seem that way from where I’m standing.”

“Please, Illya. Please don’t…”

“Please don’t what?”

Illya heard a ragged breath, then nothing.

Finally, “Please, don’t leave me.”

“Napoleon…”

“Please, we can work this out. When I get back. You can wait a couple of weeks, can’t you?”

Illya hadn’t been think of leaving Napoleon. Not seriously, though he knew that that might end up being their only solution. Really, what he most wanted was for Napoleon to be here, the two of them enjoying their time off.

“All right, a couple of weeks.”

Illya heard the indistinct noises of a loudspeaker.

“That’s my call,” Napoleon said. “I have to go. I lo…I’ll see you in a couple of weeks.”

The phone went dead, so Illya replaced the receiver. He returned to his cooling cup of tea and the view out his living room window. But all he could think about were the words that Napoleon had been unwilling to say.

 

~~~~~

 

The locker room was hot and damp, which wasn’t helping Illya’s disposition. He sat down on the bench in front of his locker and worked on removing his shoes. One shoe, anyway. The shoelace of the other refused to come undone.

He tried untying the lace again. In frustration, he grabbed it and pulled with all his strength. There was a snap, and he ended up with a piece of it in one hand, his shoe still firmly tied. He lowered his head and took a deep breath.

“Having a problem?”

Illya looked up. It was Mark, already dressed for their game. He threw the piece of string away in disgust and pulled his shoe off. “You might say.”

Mark sat down next to him. “I thought you sounded a bit down when I called you. Missing your better half?”

Illya gave him a sour look. “I’d hardly call Napoleon my better half. Besides, he’s only been gone a week.”

“I know.” Mark balanced his racket on the floor, handle down, and casually twirled it as he spoke. “But I’ve been known to get somewhat cranky when April’s out of town. Especially when it means that I have to go on assignment alone. How did it go, by the way?”

“It was fine. Just a courier drop. I don’t think I need Napoleon just for that. Anyway, it’s different for you. April isn’t annoying the way Napoleon can often be.”

“Mr. Solo is annoying?”

Mark and Illya both looked up at the question.

Illya eyes widened. A young man, mid-twenties or so, blond, and tall, _really_ tall, stood between them.

“Illya, meet Kevin Wright. Kevin, Illya Kuryakin.”

“Mr. Kuryakin needs no introduction. He and Mr. Solo are legends.”

Illya shook his head and stood. Pulling his turtleneck up and over his head, he muttered, “Yes, especially in Napoleon’s mind.” Illya gave him another look. “I’ve seen you around somewhere, haven’t I?”

“I don’t know where you would have, sir,” Wright said.

Illya shrugged. “It will come to me.”

“Kevin is one of the new recruits. You’ve probably seen him in the halls, doing his new recruit thing. He’s certainly heard about you and Napoleon.”

“Yes,” Wright broke in. “I’ve studied all yours and Mr. Solo’s assignment reports.”

“Don’t believe everything you read,” Illya said as he undid his belt and pants. “Napoleon wrote some of those reports and he has a propensity to exaggerate.”

“Don’t go bursting the lad’s bubble, Illya. He means well.”

Illya danced around on one foot as he tried to remove his pants. “Well, as you can see, I, at least, take my pants off one leg at a time.” He reached into his locker and grabbed his jockstrap. “As well as take whatever support I can get.”

Mark laughed, though Kevin only looked puzzled.

“Do you think you could introduce me to Mr. Solo, Mr. Kuryakin?” There’s so much I’d like to ask both of you. When it’s convenient, of course,” Kevin added.

Illya almost groaned. That’s all Napoleon would need. As if his head wasn’t big enough.

_You know that’s unfair._

Illya brushed the thought away. Right now he didn’t want to give Napoleon any leeway. In anything. He finished pulling on his sweats and sat to put on his tennis shoes. He responded without looking up. “He’s out of town right now, but when he gets back I’ll be sure to initiate a meeting.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kuryakin. I’d really appreciate that.”

“Okay, well run along like a good lad. I’m about to trounce your hero in a game of racketball,” Mark said as he stood.

Illya chuckled at that. He closed his locker and the two of them headed for the courts.

“You’re not actually going to tell Napoleon about him, are you?”

“Probably not. I can imagine his reaction to finding out that he has a new member in his fan club.”

“My, now that’s a bit churlish. You two have a row?”

Illya didn’t know what it was that they had. He couldn’t make up his mind who he was more angry at, himself or Napoleon. Napoleon didn’t seem to be able to commit himself fully, but Illya knew that, since he was the one who had started it, some of the blame was his, too. As much as he’d loved the last six months, he was beginning to think that it would have been better to have never started up in the first place. Now, not just their affair could be in jeopardy. Their partnership could be, too.

“Hello, Earth to Illya.” mark snapped his fingers in front of Illya’s face. “I say, that must have been some row. Want to talk about it?”

God, no. Illya could just imagine Mark’s reaction if he were to tell him that he and Napoleon had had a lover’s spat. “No, it wasn’t that bad. We’ll probably both have forgotten about it by the time he gets back.”

“I certainly hope so,” Mark said as he opened the door to the court. “I don’t want you to have any excuse for the drubbing I’m about to give you.”

 

~~~~~

 

Illya unlocked the door and let himself into his apartment. He threw his briefcase on the couch and reset the locks. He went into the kitchen for a beer. He returned to the living room and plopped down on the couch. He kicked off his shoes and opened his briefcase. Pulling out the file, he skimmed over the first page. _Playing minder to a low-level informant._ A step up from a courier run, but not by much.

He took a swig of beer, then placed the bottle off to the side as he spread out the file. From here to Copenhagen and back. Shouldn’t take too long. A week at the outside. Perhaps Napoleon would be back by then.

Illya paged through the report. The informant had some interesting information. And going by what he had initially given them, information that could very possibly put several people at risk. That made him feel better about Mr. Waverly giving him the job. Nice to know that the man was comfortable giving this to him while Napoleon was away.

Illya scowled. Couldn’t he stop thinking about Napoleon? He supposed it was only to be expected. They had always enjoyed bouncing information off of one another. He wondered what his partner would think of what this informant was giving them?

Illya mentally shook himself. He wasn’t supposed to be thinking of Napoleon. He wasn’t supposed to think of their working together, because they might never do so again. Illya grabbed his beer and took another large pull. He had to get his mind back on track.

He was still studying the file when there was a knock at the door. He frowned. Who could that possibly be? He quickly gathered the papers and placed them back in his briefcase. He closed it, placing it behind one of the chairs before answering the door.

“Hello, Illya Nickovitch.”

Illya’s eyes widened. The man standing before him was almost beautiful. His dark eyes and hair had always drawn Illya. “Oleg Lukovich, what are you doing here?”

The man looked around Illya and into the apartment. “May I come in?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, of course.” Illya stepped aside and let Oleg in. He closed the door and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room.

Oleg made a circuit of the room, stopping in front of the small fireplace. He picked up a picture frame from the mantel, studying the photo inside. After a moment he showed it to Illya. “You and your partner?”

Illya glanced at the photo. He and Napoleon were at a party and had both been wearing tuxedos. Napoleon’s date had insisted on taking a photo. Illya had only gone along with it when she agreed to give him a copy. He had treasured that photo ever since. “Yes,” he answered.

Oleg looked at it again. “A very handsome man, the notorious Napoleon Solo. But I suppose that’s to be expected, considering his reputation.”

Illya didn’t want to hear any more. He took the photo away from Oleg and placed it back on the mantel. Then he motioned toward the couch. “Please, sit.”

Oleg gave him a look but didn’t argue. He crossed the room and lowered himself onto the couch. Illya took the chair across from him, keeping the coffee table between them. “What can I do for you?”

Oleg laughed. “So like you, Illya Nickovitch, to be so formal with a past lover.”

Illya grimaced. So long ago, yet something he would never forget. Oleg had been his superior in the KGB, but that had been put aside as they became lovers. Until it wasn’t. Maybe he should have learned a lesson from that.

“If I remember rightly, we didn’t part on the best of terms,” Illya finally countered.

“This is true, but, what do they say, water under the bridge? And I still think fondly of our time together. In fact,” he raised up and leaned over toward Illya. He took his hand and pulled him around the table and down onto the couch. “I’d very much like to take up where we left off.”

Illya pulled his hand away. “That isn’t possible.” He tried to stand, but Oleg brought his leg up and covered Illya’s lap with his bent knee, effectively pinning him to the couch.

“Oh, I think it is. In fact, I think your cousin, Galina, would beg to differ,” he casually announced. Carding his fingers through Illya’s hair, he added, “I think she would think it very rude of you to reject my advances.”

Galina, the only family he had left. “What have you done with her?”

“Oh, nothing.” Oleg’s hand had dropped and he was busily undoing Illya’s belt. “She’s just enjoying a small holiday. She’ll be home soon, I’m sure.” Finished undoing the belt, he was now working on the zipper of Illya’s pants. With a satisfied smile, he inserted his hand under Illya’s underwear and wrapped his fingers around Illya’s lax genitals.

Illya grabbed Oleg’s wrist and attempted to pull it out.“Ah, ah, ah. That is not allowed. Unless you don’t care to see your cousin again, you will let me do whatever I wish to you. Is that understood?”

“You endangered her life for sex?”

Oleg laughed. “No, this,” he squeezed Illya’s cock, “is just an added bonus. You’ll know what you will be called on to do soon enough. But for now,” he removed his hand and stood. He grabbed Illya’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “Which way to your bedroom? I wouldn’t want to make love on the couch. Not our first time, anyway.”

Illya pressed his lips together. He wouldn’t fight Oleg, not right now. If he had to open his legs for his former lover, so be it. But once he knew what the man really wanted, he would make his plans. Oleg had always underestimated him.

He motioned toward his bedroom door and allowed Oleg to pull him toward it. They entered, and Oleg closed the door behind them.

 

~~~~~

 

Illya gingerly sat up. He turned to see if Oleg had wakened. He hadn’t, so Illya quietly grabbed his clothes and headed for the bathroom. Once inside, he locked the door. He turned the shower on, setting the water to as hot as he thought he could stand. He’d need it to wash off the filth he felt covered his body.

He stepped into the tub and pulled the curtain shut. He let the water cascade down his body for several minutes before lathering up his washcloth and start scrubbing his body, especially his buttocks. He and Napoleon had rarely had penetrative sex. Though he had allowed it, the issue of Napoleon’s refusal was often on Illya’s mind. Why should Napoleon enjoy its pleasures when Illya’s wasn’t? So Illya had only been penetrated a couple of times since they had become lovers. It had been more than a few years before then that Illya had even allowed it by anyone else. That wasn’t something he enjoyed with men who were little more than a momentary diversion.

With hesitant fingers, he touched his anus. He hissed in pain but continued his examination. It wasn’t terrible; he didn’t think there was any tearing, but sitting would be a problem for a couple of days. Hopefully, Oleg would be satisfied long enough for Illya to heal.

There was a knock at the door. “Are you almost done in there? Don’t use up all the hot water,” Oleg said with a laugh.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes.” Illya quickly rinsed himself off. He turned off the water, stepped out of the tub and began to dry himself. Once dressed, he walked over to the door. There was no skirting the inevitable. He undid the lock and opened the door.

He walked out into the living room. Oleg was sitting on the couch, dressed in Illya’s robe. There was a pot of coffee on the coffee table and two cups.

“Ah, you are finished. Come, have some coffee,” Oleg said as he filled both cups.

Illya reluctantly took a seat next to Oleg. “What now?”

Oleg took a sip of his coffee. “Too hot.” He put the cup down. Crossing his legs, he locked his fingers together at his knees and leaned back against the couch. “You will be leaving for Copenhagen in two days. Once there, you will make contact with a certain informant. The information you get from him, you will bring to me.”

“How did you know about that?”

“You’re not the only contact I have in your organization, Illya. Did you actually think I would trust you to not try to let your superiors know about this? Don’t even think about it. You would be very sorry if you did.”

Illya glared at the man. “Why don’t you just get it yourself? Or are you that out of practice?”

Oleg shook his head. “Ah, Illya, you did always amuse me. This sort of work was always below me. It is work for the proletariat. That is why you reported to me, not the other way around. Here.” He handed Illya a small slip of paper. “You will call me when you return. We will meet…” he looked around, “here.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You can, and you will if you ever want to see your cousin again.” Oleg stood. “Don’t be late tonight. I’m looking forward to a repeat of last night.”

With that, he tightened the robe’s belt and started toward the bathroom.

Illya could only look helplessly on. With a shudder, he grabbed his briefcase and hurried out the door.

 

~~~~~

 

Napoleon gazed out the window and watched the buildings below slowly decrease in size as the plane gained altitude. Saito’s injury hadn’t been as bad as they had thought, and after just a couple of days the man was demanding to be let back to work. The doctors had refused at first, but the man hadn’t become head of U.N.C.L.E. Japan by being timid. Eventually, he’d worn them down, and they’d allowed him back to work with the proviso that he didn’t overdo it. That morning, when Napoleon had walked into the office, Saito was sitting behind the desk, busy at work. He’d dismissed Napoleon with a wave of his hand, and a firm, “Go back home.” He didn’t have to be told twice.

Napoleon had gone back to his hotel room and packed in record time. He’d waited impatiently until he was able to board, having an irrationally fear that he would be called back if he didn’t escape in time. He’d let out a huge sigh of relief once the plane was off the ground.

It had been a long flight, and Napoleon had barely slept. He kept going over what he’d say to Illya. How he’d convince him to try to work things out between them. So far, he’d come up with nothing. The problem was, he didn’t know how he could keep Illya without losing himself.

The stopover in Honolulu had been hell. Napoleon kept waiting for his communicator to go off, informing him that he was to turn around and go back. Once again he’d been on pins and needles, not feeling truly safe until they were in the air.

But now he could relax. He stretched out his legs and tried to get comfortable.

“Would you like a drink, sir?” the stewardess asked the man in the aisle seat.

“Can I have a cola? I’m awfully thirsty.”

“Of course. And for you, sir”? she asked Napoleon.

Napoleon looked up at the woman and smiled. “Yes, thank you. I’ll have a scotch, neat.”

“Whatever you’d like,” she responded, adding a wink as she walked off.

“Wow, it must be wonderful to have that effect on a woman,” the man in the outside seat said. “What’s your secret?”

Napoleon had no idea. No matter that he now had a male lover, he’d always really liked women. And maybe that’s all it was. They knew it, so they liked him back.

“I’m just a likable guy, I guess.”

The man laughed. “Being as good looking as you are probably doesn’t hurt. I mean, look at me. Thirty pounds overweight, balding, and closing in on my fifties. Of course, I never was what you’d call a Don Juan, no matter what my wife says.”

“You’re married?”

“Yup.” The man pulled out his wallet and flipped it open to a photo. “This is Elaine. I’m Oliver Manning, by the way.” He removed the photo and handed it to Napoleon.

“Napoleon Solo,” he said as he took the photo. He studied the image. The woman’s hair was starting to gray but combed in a flattering hairdo. She had a touch of lipstick and rouge, and that was it. Still, she was a handsome woman. Even in the photo she seemed to exude strength. His estimate of the man went up, that he had managed such a catch. He handed the picture back. “You’re a lucky man.”

Oliver beamed. “I think so,” he said as he tucked the picture back into his wallet. “You got someone waiting at home, Mr. Solo?”

A week ago, Napoleon would have happily said, ‘yes, yes I do.’ But that might not be true anymore. And that thought terrified Napoleon. He didn’t know what he would do if Illya decided to call it off. So how to respond to the question? Finally, he said, “I’m working on it.”

“I can’t imagine any woman saying no to you. I’ll bet she’ll be yours before you know it, and glad of it.”

“I certainly hope you’re right.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out, I’m sure you’ll find someone. A guy like you, they must be waiting in line.”

Napoleon had always thought so. But that was before that one night when Illya had kissed him and all his preconceived notions about himself had gone flying out the window.

The stewardess approached with their drinks. Oliver slammed his down, and Napoleon was glad when the man then put his seat back and promptly fell asleep. He seemed a nice enough fellow, but talking was the last thing on Napoleon’s mind.

He stared out the window, nursing his drink. His thoughts turned once again to his predicament. When had he first started to desire Illya? There hadn’t been a light bulb going off in his head telling him ‘you really want this man.’ Perhaps if there had been he would have been more prepared, maybe done something to head Illya off. Instead, Napoleon had felt a growing need for Illya’s company that he was able to trick himself into believing was only a sign of a close and intense friendship.

But that kiss. Ah, that kiss had turned Napoleon’s life upside down. Desire had slammed through his body and that they’d soon found themselves naked, their bare skin slapping together, just seemed the most natural thing in the world. Women? Who wanted women? Not when he could have this strong, lithe, body in his arms.

Afterward, he’d tried to explain it away as just one of those things. They had been drunk after all. But then there had been another time, and then another. Though Napoleon had continued to see women for a while, they had soon lost their allure. It hadn’t taken but a couple of months for him to stop seeing them completely.

And that had been the rub. What kind of man was he? He’d certainly never thought of himself as being homosexual. It had disturbed him, enough that he resisted that one stupid act, as if not doing it somehow negated everything else they were doing. But that one stupid act was what Illya had wanted from him. Napoleon had been unwilling to try it. Until he did.

That had frightened him even more. Because while he had done a good job of hiding it, it had made him feel in a way that he had never felt before. It had felt as if his whole body was lit up, and it had taken all his willpower to not have another erection. Illya’s cock hitting Napoleon’s prostate, and then the flood of hot liquid in his rectum; it had almost been his undoing.

Napoleon felt a twinge in his lap and turned his thoughts in another direction. Still of Illya, but more about the fact that he loved the man, and how in the world he was going to tell him so. He wished he had said it during the call from the airport. But he didn’t know if Illya felt the same way. How would Napoleon have felt if dead silence had been Illya’s response?

He finished his drink. Placing the glass on his tray, he lowered his seat back and closed his eyes. Exhausted, the lack of sleep finally caught him with him.

The bump onto the landing strip woke him. He stifled a yawn and rubbed his hands over his face. Bringing his seat upright, he waited impatiently for the go-ahead to debark the plane.

Napoleon was one of the first out of the plane, hurrying to the luggage carousel, even though his suitcase was probably not there yet. He wished he had known that his stay in Japan would be so short. He would have packed a smaller case, something he would have carried on with him. He paced around the carousel until it turned on and luggage started coming down the chute. He grabbed his case as soon as it tumbled out, and hurried to grab a taxi.

He knew he looked like hell, and normally he would have gone home for a shower and maybe a couple hours of sleep. But he didn’t want to take the time. He needed to see Illya, and he needed it to be somewhere where Illya couldn’t avoid him. The best place for that would be at the office.

~~~~~

Illya looked up at the clock on the wall. Almost five. He was alone in his office, his desk cleared, his inbox empty. He’d made his paperwork last as long as possible, using much of the time trying to come up with a plan. How to keep from handing over the file and save Galina at the same time. He still didn’t know. Now, there was nothing to be done but return home, something he was dreading. He knew Oleg would be there. The thought of another night with the man turned his stomach.

It was hard to imagine that, once upon a time, he had been madly in love with him. At least, Illya had thought so at the time. But time and maturity had changed his mind. He had been infatuated, sexually attracted, but that was a far cry from what he now felt for Napoleon.

Napoleon. What was he going to do with Napoleon? He missed him terribly but still wondered if the best thing would be to break it off with him. But could he actually go through with it? He had his doubts.

And then, as if his thoughts had given form to the man, Napoleon walked in the door.

“Hello, Illya,” he tentatively said.

“You’re back early.” Illya couldn’t keep his dismay out of his voice.

“Wow, I was hoping for a better welcome home than that.” Napoleon picked up a pencil from off of Illya’s desk and started nervously toying with it, putting it back down when Illya threw him a look. “I suppose I should be glad that you’re not throwing me out of the office.”

“It’s your office, too,” Illya responded. He quickly stood up and hurried over to the coat rack and shrugged into his coat. “I was just leaving, so the office is all yours.”

Napoleon moved to block the door. “Illya, wait. We need to talk.”

“There is nothing to talk about.” Illya didn’t want this conversation. Especially now. Why couldn’t Napoleon have stayed away for another week?

“Yes, there is. You know there is.” Napoleon kneaded his hands together and gave Illya a pleading look. “Come on, Illya, don’t be this way.”

Illya tried to go around him. “This is not a good time or place for this discussion. We can talk when I get back from my assignment.”

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know, a week maybe.”

“A week?” Napoleon asked in dismay. “I can’t wait another week. Listen, why don’t you come over to my apartment tonight? I’ll make dinner. What do you say?”

Illya hesitated. It would be a good excuse, having to meet with his partner. Oleg would have to see the logic in that. With any luck Oleg would be asleep by the time he got back. “Very well, but just for dinner.”

“And talk,” Napoleon added.

“Yes, and talk.” With that, Illya pushed his way passed Napoleon and fled.

 

~~~~~

 

Illya let himself into his apartment, automatically setting the locks and then removing his coat. His thoughts were of Napoleon, so he felt a wave of revulsion when someone else’s hand caressed his backside.

“I was beginning to worry about you,” Oleg said, his arms wrapping around Illya. “You’re late.”

Illya squirmed out of his hold and faced him. “I had work to do. My partner was away, so I’ve been doing double duty.”

“Was away? He’s back?”

“Yes, and he asked me to come by tonight to get him up to speed, so I’ll have to leave right away.”

“Why don’t you just tell him over those things you use? Communicators, isn’t that what you call them? I don’t like the idea of you being gone for the night. There’s so much I still want to do with you.”

Illya turned his head away. “I won’t be gone all night, just a few hours.”

Oleg grabbed Illya’s chin and pulled his head back so that they were facing each other. “There’s something you’re not telling me. Don’t try to lie, Illya. I’ve always been able to read you.” Oleg stared at him a moment, and then gave a bark of laughter. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You, yourself, spoke of his reputation.”

“Yes, I did, didn’t I? But that’s what makes it all the more amusing.” Suddenly his eyes narrowed. “Wait a moment. My god, you’re letting him fuck you.”

Illya managed to pull away. “No, but even if I was, it’s no concern of yours.”

“Ah, but it is.” Oleg grabbed Illya’s arm. “There will be none of that tonight. In fact,” he thought a moment, “you will tell him that you no longer desire him, that you no longer love him. That you’re leaving him…for me!”

“Why? Even if we were lovers, why would I do such a thing?”

“Because I’m telling you to. Because I think it would be such a good joke for the great Napoleon Solo to be dumped by his male lover. And I’m very sure that you are his lover. It’s written all over your face.” Oleg dropped Illya’s arm and walked over to the mantel. He picked up the picture of Napoleon and Illya and studied it again. “Yes, you are lovers. I am sure of it.”

“I suppose it doesn’t matter if I deny it.”

“No, it would do no good, because I wouldn’t believe you. In any event, I’ll be able to hear every word you say.”

Illya stared at him in disbelief. “You had his apartment bugged?”

Oleg smirked. “Of course I did. He’s been away. It was the perfect opportunity.”

“But how?” Illya’s eyes went wide. “This other person in U.N.C.L.E., it’s another agent, isn’t it?”

“I suppose it won’t hurt for you to know this. After you hand over the information you’re going to pick up, I imagine your career with U.N.C.L.E. will be effectively over.”

Illya walked to the door. “I have to go. I only came home to tell you about my appointment with Napoleon.”

“I will be waiting…and listening. I do so hope it’s as entertaining as I think it will be.”

Illya grabbed his coat from the coat rack and bolted from the apartment.

~~~~~

Illya wiped his hands on the sides of his pants. It didn’t help much. He had no idea what he was going to say, but he realized that, whatever he said, he would be hurting his partner beyond belief. Finally, he rapped on the door.

It opened almost immediately.

Napoleon appeared to have only recently showered because his hair was still damp. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and slacks. He wore socks, but no shoes. He looked tired.

“Come in, come in,” Napoleon eagerly said.

Illya walked in. The odor of cooking meat wafted in from the open patio door. The table in the dining area was set for two.

“I thought steaks would be easiest. I think they’re almost done. Why don’t you sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.” Napoleon disappeared out onto the patio.

Illya walked into the living room. He’d always loved this room. It was Napoleon. Dark, warm, strong. A record was softly playing; some sort of light jazz. Napoleon knew that he loved jazz. The only light was the glow from the fireplace. Illya nervously perched on the couch. His hands hung between his knees, his fingers locked together. 

Napoleon re-entered the kitchen, a platter in his hands. He placed it on the counter and covered it with foil. Grabbing his drink, he joined Illya in the living room and took the chair across from him. “It has to sit for about ten minutes, then we can eat.”

“Napoleon–”

“Would you like something to drink? I have vodka. Or would you prefer a beer? Whatever you want.”

“No, Napoleon–”

“Are you sure? You’ll have to catch up. This is my second.” Napoleon contemplated his glass. “Or maybe my third, I’m not sure. Anyway–”

“Napoleon, I can’t stay.”

“What? Why not?”

Illya looked down, gathering his wits. When he looked up, it was with more regret than he could say. “I’ve decided. I’ve decided that I no longer wish to be your lover.”

Napoleon stared at him, as if not believing what he was hearing. He took a sip of his drink. His hand was shaking. He slowly placed it back on the table. “May I ask why?” he asked, almost in a whisper.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while. In fact,” Illya cleared his throat. “I’ve been seeing someone else. Someone who doesn’t have the same problems that you do about being with another man.”

“You’ve been seeing someone else?” Napoleon asked in disbelief. He’d raised his voice, and Illya could tell that he was starting to get angry.

“Yes, It’s someone I knew from back home. He’s recently moved to the States and contacted me. It’s one of the reasons I decided to fuck you.”

Napoleon looked as if he’d been slapped. “What? You wanted to tear off a piece before you left?”

Illya stood. “Something like that.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “I assume dinner is off.”

Napoleon shot to his feet. “You could say that,” he said between clenched teeth. “I can’t believe that I was about to…never mind what I was going to do. But I can’t believe that I was so taken in by you.” He stopped, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Illya. “Wait a minute…”

Illya almost squirmed under Napoleon’s scrutiny. This was the real test. Napoleon had had time to think, and he was beginning to doubt what he had just heard. Now was when Illya had to make sure that Napoleon did believe him.

“What? Are you going to try to come up with a way to turn this around? To make it look as if it was you who had misgivings? Don’t even try. I just got tired of you and your insecurities.”

“You never said–“

Illya laughed. “I never said what? Never told you how pathetic you were as a lover? So insecure about your virgin ass, worried that it would make you less of a man to give it up. That got very old very fast, Napoleon.”

Napoleon paled. “I can’t believe you’re talking to me this way. Maybe I wasn’t everything you wanted in a lover, but I thought we were at least friends.”

“Look, I’m sorry if what I say offends you, but I know you, Napoleon. Unless I told you the unadulterated truth, you wouldn’t believe me, and I want you to believe me. It’s over between us. Truthfully, I knew it wasn’t going to work from almost the beginning.”

“Yet you let me believe that you…that you cared for me.”

“I did, at the beginning, but, as I told you, I got tired of coddling your fragile ego. Everything was about you. Now I’ve found someone who thinks about me, too. Who doesn’t have to be constantly told how wonderful he is.”

“I…”

“There’s nothing else to say.” Illya walked over to the fireplace, removing a key from his keyring at the same time. He placed the key on the mantel. “Here’s your key. I won’t need it anymore.” He turned toward the door.

“Illya, wait.” Napoleon held out his hand. “There has to be something–“

“No, Napoleon.” Illya opened the door. “It’s over.” He walked through and closed the door behind him.

Illya stood, his back to the door. He was trembling all over. He tried to listen for, he wasn’t sure what. Napoleon following to plead for another chance? Or Napoleon telling him that he never wanted to see him again? Either scenario was possible, But only silence greeted him. When he could take it no longer, he hurried down the hallway, away from the silence.

 

~~~~~

 

Napoleon stood, frozen in place. He couldn’t believe what had just happened. He had known that the conversation was going to be difficult. He never imagined that it would be so final. That, just like that, it would be over. As if a string had been cut, he slumped onto the chair and cradled his head in his hands. What was he going to do now?

_Stop it. you’re stronger than this._

Maybe, but he didn’t feel strong right now. He felt as if he’d strayed into some tragic farce. His life had been set, and then he’d taken a male lover. Everything, _everything,_ had changed. Was it all supposed to change back now?

He sat up and grabbed his drink off the coffee table. He gulped most of it down, coughing as the alcohol burned his throat. He slowed his drinking and finished it off just as the record came to its end. He stood and walked over to the hi-fi. He flipped the LP over, being gentle when placing the needle. The music started. Napoleon grabbed the decanter of whiskey and returned to his seat. He didn’t have to work tomorrow; he could get as drunk as he wished. And he wished to get very drunk.

He took a drink, and then rested his head against the chair back. He closed his eyes. Against his will, the scene replayed itself in his mind. Funny, he’d hoped that Illya loved him. It turned out he didn’t even like Napoleon. Not anymore, because Napoleon was weak, he didn’t know what he wanted. Napoleon had to admit, that part had been true. But he knew what he wanted now. Didn’t that count for something?

He opened his eyes and brought his glass up for another swallow. He listened to the music until it occurred to him that he didn’t even like this music. He had put it on for Illya. So, why was he listening to it? He took another drink, then put his glass down and stood, staggering only a bit on his way to the hi-fi. He grabbed the stylus, cringing at the screech as it was dragged across the record.

Fine, so it was ruined. He pulled the record from the spindle, turned, and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the far wall. Napoleon smothered a sob. Using his sleeve, he wiped the wetness from his face. He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t give Illya the satisfaction.

The glint of metal caught his eye. His key. He walked over to the fireplace and picked up the key. He frowned. This wasn’t his house key, was it? Napoleon pulled his own keys out of his pocket and compared the key to his own. It wasn’t anything alike. What the hell was Illya playing at?

He examined the key again. It looked familiar. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog of alcohol. He began to compare it to the rest of his keys. There was almost a match with the fourth one. It was the key to his gym locker. Why would Illya give him his gym locker key?

A ridiculous wave of hope surged through Napoleon. Illya was trying to tell him something. Something that couldn’t be spoken of out loud. All those horrible words, he hadn’t meant any of them. _This_ was the literal key to what Illya was trying to say. Napoleon started laughing in joy, and the next thing he knew he was crying, sobbing his relief.

_Stop it! Illya needs you._

He held his hand over his mouth until he’d regained control. The problem was, he was in no condition to drive. He’d have to take a cab. He hurried into his bedroom and put his shoes on. Returning to the living room, he grabbed his wallet and jacket and rushed from the apartment.

The elevator was in use, and he almost used the stairwell but decided against it. All he needed was to stumble and break his neck. Instead, he stood next to the elevator doors, stabbing the down button in frustration. When the elevator finally arrived, he slipped inside and hit the lobby button.

His luck seemed to change at this point, and he rode the elevator down with no stops. Out in front of the building, he snagged a cab almost at once. Even the traffic seemed lighter than usual. Less than twenty minutes later, he was dropped off in front of the UNCLE building. Once inside, he made a beeline for the gym.

Napoleon was in such a hurry that the heated conversation down the hall almost didn’t catch his attention. He was usually alert to such situations. He slowed, then stopped when he realized that the conversation was taking place in front of his office door. A tall, muscular stranger stood at the entrance. He seemed nervous, though resolved. Not wanting to spook the man, Napoleon pulled out his gun and eased his way down the hall until he was standing right behind the man. The man had a gun, and he was pointing it at what appeared to be an intruder in his office.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Napoleon asked, standing next to the tall man at the entrance. The man towered over him.

The man glanced down for a second, then turned his attention back to the man in the office. “I saw him forcing his way in here. I knew he had to be up to no good. Only you and Mr. Kuryakin are allowed into your office.”

That wasn’t completely true, but Napoleon didn’t recognize the man standing behind Illya’s desk, either, so he wasn’t going to belabor the point. He slipped by the man and moved to stand in front of the desk, his gun now trained on the man. He still didn’t look familiar. Without turning around, he spoke to the man at the door. “I don’t know who you are–“

“Kevin, Kevin Wright, Mr. Solo. No reason you should know me, I just arrived last week. I’m a new recruit.”

“I’m in your debt, Mr. Wright. But could I ask a favor of you? There should be a pair of handcuffs in my bottom right desk drawer. Could you get them for me?” He took his keys out and tossed them in Wright’s direction. “It’s the third one.”

Wright fumbled with the keys. It took him a minute, but finally exclaimed, “Got it.”

While Wright went for the handcuffs, Napoleon studied their prisoner. “And you? Who are you?”

The man just shook his head.

Napoleon shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. The people in interrogation are very good at their job. They’ll get it out of you.”

“I found them, Mr. Solo.”

“Fine. Now, put my keys and your gun on my desk and, very carefully, go over and put the cuffs on our friend here.”

Wright did as he was told. Napoleon could tell that the guy was somewhat overcome, but he seemed very conscientious, making sure the handcuffs were on good and tight.

Napoleon holstered his gun. “You can take him to interrogation,” he said, picking up Wright’s gun and returning it to him.

“What are you going to do?” Wright asked. He had one large hand on their prisoner’s neck, the other wrapped around one of the man’s biceps. It looked painful.

“I’ve got an errand to run, but I trust you can handle him,” he said with a wink.

Wright grinned. “Yes, sir, Mr. Solo. Okay, you,” he pushed the man toward the door. “And no funny stuff.

Solo almost laughed. Wright had almost a foot on their prisoner. He really doubted that there would be any funny stuff. He had a feeling that the prisoner had something to do with what was going on with Illya. Napoleon was sure that the answer to the rest of the puzzle lay in Illya’s locker. He grabbed his keys from off of his desk and headed for the gym.

 

~~~~~

Napoleon unlocked the door and quietly let himself in. The room was dark, but he’d reset the locks so many times he didn’t need light. He looked around. A sliver of light shone from between the parted drapes. Someone had pulled a chair up to it and sat looking out the window. He couldn’t see the person’s face, but he knew without a doubt who it was.

Napoleon approached the figure. “Where’s Volkov?”

Illya looked up. “He’s in the bedroom, passed out.”

“Passed out? What did you do to him?”

“He was so smug, thinking that he knew me so well. It never crossed his mind that I knew him even better. He had a drinking problem. I hoped he still did, so when I left this morning I left out a bottle. He’d gone through it by the time I got back. It didn’t take much encouragement for him to continue.”

Napoleon pulled the drape open a little wider, enough so that he could see Illya’s face. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” he took Napoleon’s hand and lay it against his cheek. “I am now. I assume so is Galina?”

Napoleon nodded. “He had her locked in his attic. Apparently, your friend runs a lucrative business in blackmail and extortion. He’s got an apartment in Paris, and he’d turned the attic into a cell. She was fine, more so than I would have thought, considering that she’d been up there for days.”

“She was always a strong person. I had hoped…well, that she would have understood if I hadn’t been able to save her.”

“If you hadn’t turned over the file.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I couldn’t have done that.”

“I know. They were stupid to think that you would have.”

“It is such a lucky thing that you returned when you did. And I knew that you’d realize that the key wasn’t to your apartment and find my note.”

“It certainly explained a lot.”

But how did you find Galina?” Illya asked. “My note wouldn’t have helped you do that.”

“We have an admirer who’s been keeping an eye out on our office while I was gone.”

“We do? Wait, it wouldn’t happen to be a huge, blond monster by the name of Kevin Wright, would it?”

“That’s him. And it’s a lucky thing, too, because he caught an intruder. Seems that Volkov had help. Leo Manning, an agent who’d just transferred from the Paris office.”

“Yes, Oleg mentioned that he had someone watching you.”

“And they might have gotten away with it all if Kevin hadn’t caught the guy. I wasn’t planning on going to my office. It was only because I saw Kevin standing in the doorway that I did. I tell you, Illya, I’m putting that boy in for an accommodation.”

“Yes, we owe him much. But Galina is all right, isn’t she?” Illya asked again, as if unable to believe their luck.

Napoleon smiled. “She’s fine. A bit shook up, as you’d expect, but, like I said, she took it better than a lot of people would have. All she wanted to do was go back home.”

“That sounds like her. Even as a child, she had an inner strength. I suppose she would have to have had.”

“You both would have had to. But she’s home, and everything is fine.”

“Not quite. We have yet another problem. Your apartment was bugged.”

“Actually, it wasn’t.”

“What? Oleg told me that it was.”

“I think he just wanted you to think it was so that you wouldn’t say anything to me about what was going on. But I figured you must have thought that so I had it checked. They didn’t find a thing.”

Illya glared at the bedroom door. “I should go in there and…”

Napoleon grinned and put a hand on Illya’s shoulder. “Down, boy. I think the guy is going to have enough problems after we get him to headquarters, though if he happens to slip on the pavement on the way to your car, well, I wouldn’t mind.”

“He has done damage to both of us, hasn’t he?” Illya gazed up at Napoleon. “So, you, my friend, how are you doing?”

“You mean after that act you put on in my apartment?” Napoleon shook his head. “I have to admit, Illya, you scared me half out of my wits. I was so sure–“

Illya stood and wrapped his arms around Napoleon’s neck. “Hush, I don’t want to talk about that.” He tightened his hold. “You do know that I love you, don’t you?”

“I had hoped so,” Napoleon whispered hoarsely. “But after what’s being going on between us, I wouldn’t have blamed you for leaving.” He was quiet for a couple of seconds. “You were thinking about it, weren’t you?”

Illya nodded. “But not seriously, I don’t think. It would have hurt too much. We will figure it out. We always do.” Illya closed in for a kiss.

“Hey, what about your friend?” Napoleon nodded toward the bedroom door.

“Don’t call him that. He’s not my friend. In any event, the door is locked. And that lock is more than equal to one drunk Russian.”

Napoleon chuckled. “In that case.” He lowered his head and covered Illya’s mouth with his own. Volkov could wait.

 

~~~~~

 

Ilya squinted as the bright, morning sun shone through Napoleon’s bedroom window. They’d been so tired they hadn’t thought to close the drapes the night before. Truthfully, they’d done little more than undress and collapse on the bed. It had been nearing sunrise when they’d finally gotten to Napoleon’s apartment.

The kiss in Illya’s apartment had lasted a long time, but, eventually, they had pulled apart and gotten on with their duty. He hadn’t been kidding about Oleg being drunk. The man had been practically a dead weight. U.N.C.L.E. was going to have to wait awhile before interrogating him. Illya wasn’t sure if Oleg would be sober even now.

He rolled onto his back. But that wasn’t their problem anymore. Did they have a problem anymore? Illya wasn’t sure. It certainly hadn’t seemed so last night. He looked over at his bed partner. Napoleon’s back was turned to him, and only his head and one shoulder were uncovered. He reached out and caressed the tanned skin.

Napoleon made a soft noise as he woke. He turned toward Illya, his mouth breaking into a huge yawn. “What time is it?” he asked, then checked his watch. “God, almost nine.”

“Hmm,” Illya rolled over and moved within Napoleon’s arms. “Plenty of time.”

The kiss was gentle, yet insistent. Illya could feel Napoleon’s cock swell next to his own burgeoning organ. They lazily rubbed their bodies together, both enjoying the feeling of the growing heat between them.

Napoleon pulled his head back, breaking the kiss. “I like this. And how convenient that Mr. Waverly decided to send someone else for the file.”

“Someone having found out that I was who was going on the mission might have had something to do with it.”

“And two days off to boot,” Napoleon said, wiggling his eyebrows. “That was a real plus.”

Illya couldn’t help but agree.

They returned to silence, each enjoying this too much for talk. Without thinking about it, Illya turned around onto his stomach. He bent his knee and raised it up against his chest. When nothing happened, he turned his head around. “What’s the matter?”

Napoleon had the oddest look on his face. Part desire, part shame, and part something else. “Napoleon?”

“Sit up, Illya, please,” Napoleon asked.

Illya did so. He sighed as he made himself comfortable. He should have known that things weren’t going to be that easy.

Napoleon smiled. “Don’t look at me that way. I think you’re going to like this. In fact, I’m sure you will.”

That piqued Illya’s interest. “Go on.”

“First off, I’d like to apologize.”

“For what?”  
Napoleon looked shamefaced. “For the stupid way I acted.” He held up his hands when Illya started to interrupt. “Let me finish. All those things you said, I know you were acting, but there was a lot of truth in what you said. I was letting my ego get in the way. No, strike that. Maybe not my ego, but certainly the way I saw myself. If I let you do that to me, what did it say about me? I was afraid of the answer.”

“But you did let me. You may not have enjoyed it, but you didn’t stop me.”

“Oh, Illya, I enjoyed it more than I let on. It felt strange, but in a good way, if that makes any sense. I lied to you about that, but I couldn’t lie to myself.

“But then you left without us talking about it, and then I had to leave. All I could think about while I was in Japan was whether you would be there when I got back. No, I knew you would _be_ there, just not for me. It felt like a miracle when they told me that I could leave. I should send some sort of thank-you gift to Saito. If it wasn’t for him insisting that he was well enough to work, I’d still be there.

“Anyway, all the way back I tried to figure out what I would say to you. I still didn’t know whether I could be what you wanted. But on the flight from Honolulu I sat next to an older guy. We started talking, and he showed me a picture of his wife. When he asked if I had someone at home, I didn’t know what to say. I finally told him that I was working on it. Right away he started saying things, like that if it didn’t out that I would find someone else, or wondering how any woman could resist me. He thought all that, yet he was the one who was with the person he loved. He was nothing to look at, yet he’d captured the woman of his dreams.

“What did that say about me? That I was resisting having everything I ever wanted out of a sense of, I wasn’t even sure what it was I was fighting. I think I was already coming around to a new way of thinking, maybe a little, but this really gave me food for thought. Because I knew that I had to embrace who I was, or I was going to lose you. I couldn’t imagine that happening. When you said that you wanted to end it, I felt as if I’d been kicked in the gut.”

“You enjoyed it?” Illya asked with a smile.

Napoleon laughed. “Out of all that, that’s what you took from what I said.”

“Are you finished?”

“I suppose so.”

“Are you sure?” Illya asked as he turned and pushed Napoleon down onto the mattress.

“I suppose I could be persuaded to be.”

Illya grinned as he came upon his knees. He swung one leg over Napoleon, straddling his partner’s body.

And a lovely body it was. Elegant, yet functional, just like the man himself. Illya leaned forward so that he could run his hands over Napoleon’s chest and down to his belly, to capture Napoleon’s cock. He slowly fisted it, watching the play of desire on Napoleon’s face.

Without breaking rhythm, Illya leaned to his side and grabbed the tube of lubricant from the nightstand. He was fumbling around, trying to get the top off when his hand was captured.

“Give me that.” Napoleon took the tube and squirted some lubricant into his hand.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see. Move your hand,” Napoleon commanded, pushing Illya’s hand from his groin in order to gain access to Illya’s. He began coating the organ in lazy swipes. “See, isn’t that much better?”

“I don’t know. Napoleon–“

“Shhh, I know what I’m doing.” He continued his administrations until Illya was lost in the haze of his growing arousal. His hips slowly rose up to meet Napoleon’s every stroke; his eyes closed, his head falling back in complete abandon.

Then the hand was gone. Illya opened his eyes and gave Napoleon a questioning look.

Napoleon gently pushed him off and turned on his belly. “This is what I want.”

Though Illya was hit with an overpowering surge of arousal, his cock practically leaping, he still had to be made sure. “We don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” Napoleon turned and smiled at him. “I did enjoy it, Illya. I want you to see just how much.” With that, he stuffed a pillow under his hips and pulled a leg up, mimicking Illya’s earlier movements. “Now, I want to show you now.”

Illya’s hands were shaking as he picked up the tube of lubricant from where Napoleon had tossed it on the bed. He squeezed out a dollop and coated his fingers. Then he gently inserted one into Napoleon’s rectum.

Napoleon had gone still, but then he gasped in pleasure when Illya’s finger caressed his prostate.

“Yes, that’s it. Do it again.”

Illya had every intention of doing so. And more. He began sliding his finger in and out, his other hand pressed against Napoleon’s buttocks, having to hold him down as Napoleon’s hips surged up with every thrust.

Napoleon let out a wail when Illya inserted a second finger, and his hips began moving faster.

“God, that feels great.” Napoleon continued to move to Illya’s fingers opening him up.

Illya could barely contain his own excitement. Just watching the pleasure that he was obviously giving to Napoleon was almost all he’d need for his own desire to peak. Almost.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” Napoleon ground out. “Now, do it now.”

Illya removed his fingers and moved between Napoleon’s legs. He positioned his cock against the slick opening. He grabbed hold of Napoleon’s hips and pushed forward. His cock slid easily in.

Napoleon cried out again, this time showing all his pleasure. The way Napoleon’s body was moving below him, his hips undulating, his body accepting each thrust, Illya knew that, this time, he was feeling no discomfort.

Illya slid his hand down and grasped Napoleon’s cock. He began to fist it in time to his own thrusts into Napoleon’s body, eliciting groans of pleasure from his partner, while his own pleasure mounted.

Close, so close. He grabbed Napoleon’s shoulder to use as leverage and started a rapid and deep lunging into the receptive body. From far away, he heard Napoleon howl out his release, and he felt the wet heat of it on his hand.

But he wasn’t quite there yet. He released Napoleon’s organ and grabbed Napoleon’s other shoulder. He began pounding into Napoleon, overcome by the feeling of Napoleon’s rectum clenching around his cock, accepting it, _loving_ it. Finally, unable, unwilling, to stop it, he felt his own rush to orgasm. He let out a strangled groan as he came.

Illya dropped like a lead weight onto Napoleon’s back. When he had his breath back, he asked, “Are you all right?”

Napoleon chuckled. “I think better than all right. It’s not often, make that never, that I’ve been so thoroughly screwed through the mattress like that.” He reached up and pulled one of Illya’s hands down and kissed the back of it. “I think I could get used to it.”

“Yes, I think I could, too.”

They lay like that until Illya’s softened cock slipped from Napoleon’s body. Illya didn’t want to move, but then Napoleon began complaining about being in the wet spot, and that he was starting to get a cramp in his leg.

Illya sighed. He supposed it had been wishful thinking that Napoleon would accept everything about their new relationship right away. He rolled off his lover. He stood and then helped Napoleon up. Everything in its time. He grabbed Napoleon’s hand and led him to the shower.

There would be even more for Napoleon to get used to there.


End file.
